


Mourning Period

by sixbeforelunch



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alien Culture, Episode Related, F/M, Family, Gen, Grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-09
Updated: 2007-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:07:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixbeforelunch/pseuds/sixbeforelunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel on Abydos, post-Forever in a Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mourning Period

Daniel stays on Abydos for two Abydonian weeks after the funeral. It's the traditional mourning period for loss of a wife. Six weeks for loss of a husband--yes, there's some sexism there and no, he's not in the mood to think about it; two weeks for a child over one year; one week for a child under a year; a week for a brother unless you're an unmarried woman living in your brother's house in which case it jumps to five weeks...it's a long list and Daniel never got around to memorizing the whole thing. He had Sha're for things like that.

Traditionally the one closest to the deceased is cared for by family and friends during the mourning period. Daniel almost doesn't stay because the thought of being cared for, of having people around, is almost more than he can handle. But Kasuf gives him a sad understanding smile when he says he's going to go home and it occurs to Daniel that the man just buried his daughter, is still missing his son, and hasn't had anyone else you could call family in his life for a long time. So Daniel stays.

The first morning he wakes up in the city he forgets. It's easy to forget because the house smells like cooking _wada_ porridge just like it used to every morning. When he remembers, the force of the thought takes his breath away. It isn't Sha're leaning over the cook pot, it's Auela, and there's no Skaara in the corner cursing as he tries to get his long hair to do what he wants it to do. It's just Daniel and Kasuf and Auela who isn't even family unless you count third cousins (the Abydonians don't).

Daniel stands watching them and suddenly, selfishly, he doesn't care about Kasuf or the Abydonian traditions. He wants to be away from this place because it's so much like it was and it's nothing like it was and it hurts just being here, physically, deep in his chest and in his guts.

"Daniel," Kasuf says. "Did you sleep?"

"Yes Good Father," Daniel says. The Abydonian language feels thick on his tongue.

Auela takes the pot off of the fire and places it on the ground. "My family shares in the loss of your wife, Daniel."

Daniel stares at her, opens his mouth and closes it. He's supposed to say something here, he knows it. Auela watches him, wary, unsure in the way they always were when Daniel had broken some serious social mores and they weren't sure what to do about it. Sha're never stared at him. She just laughed. Or glared, depending on the situation.

"Then--then my pain is halved," Daniel says finally, stumbling over the words. As if they could halve his pain so easily.

Auela nods and grasps his arms in the equivalent of a chaste hug before she leaves. Her frizzy dark hair barely brushes his chin when she touches her forehead against his chest.

Kasuf is sitting on a bench, writing something on a scroll. Daniel doesn't bother to see what. He takes some of the _wada_ out of the cook pot and adds a small amount of salt. He sits, stirring it slowly and not eating. Outside he can hear the city waking up. There's a woman yelling at her child, a man shouting the prices of his wares. Daniel wants to go outside and scream at them. How dare they keep living when she's dead?

He remembers when his foster father took him back to see his parent's friends at the university. He walked in and they were doing exactly the same thing they'd done every other time he'd gone. Dr. David was sitting with his books and Dr. Meyers was cleaning a mummified cat and Miss Jane was taking notes. He'd wanted to scream at them too. It was wrong, all wrong, that his parents were gone and the world just kept on moving along like it always had.

"A silly expression," Kasuf says.

Daniel looks up. Kasuf is watching him with clear piercing eyes. Kasuf is a little like Jack, easy to underestimate and always surprising when he lets his true intelligence shine through. "I'm sorry Good Father, I don't--"

"'My pain is halved.' As if it were so easy. I said it many times to many people after my Ara's death and I never meant it."

"On Earth people say, 'I'm sorry for your loss.'"

 _In deepest sympathy for the loss of your loved one..._ How many greeting cards were piling up on his desk right now? _Dear Doctor Jackson, I'm so sorry for your loss. Regards, some airman you talked to once who felt culturally obligated to spend $3.95 on this card._

Daniel pushes the _wada_ away and looks at the cloth flap between him and the rest of the city. He could leave, but he'd have to deal with the looks, the dark smudges of ash on his neck and on his hands marking him and telling the world his sorrow. As if they didn't already know. On Earth at least he could go somewhere and not be known as the man who just lost his wife.

"I'm sorry," Daniel says. He hasn't said it yet but he needs to say it.

Kasuf is quiet for a long time. "I do not know the traditional response."

It takes Daniel a minute to figure out what he means. "No. No that's not--I wasn't saying 'I'm sorry for your loss' although, I am of course." Because Kasuf lost someone too. And Auela lost a good friend. Daniel isn't the only one hurting here and in his less selfish moments, he can even remember that. "I was saying I'm sorry I couldn't...save her. I tried. I did try."

Kasuf sets the scroll aside. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"She deserved better," Daniel says despite himself.

"She deserved the best," Kasuf says. "She had it."

"I wanted so much to make things better for her," Daniel says. "And I just..."

He gets up, walks outside. He finds himself sitting on the city wall, looking out over the desert. Everyone leaves him alone. Sha're wouldn't have left him alone, but then if Sha're were here, he wouldn't want to be left alone.

It's late in the day when he gets back to Kasuf's home. He can't think of it as his home anymore because Sha're was his home and now it's just a place that doesn't have her. It's empty when he gets back. The late afternoon sun streams in, casting long shadows in the tent. Daniel sees a small clay slip on the table. It's the Abydonian equivalent of writing on a post-it note. Paper is hard to make, so anything but official written records get put on these easily made and easily destroyed slips of clay. If future generations of archaeologists dig here, they will be ecstatic at finding even one of these precious records of daily life.

Daniel picks up the tiny written note, reads it, blinks and reads it again.

On it, Kasuf had written, "You made things better for her. This is how."

Daniel stares at it for a long time. He traces the hieroglyphs with his fingers. Sha're told him once, the story of how she learned to read. The terror of being found out when she was learning and then after when she knew something forbidden. He remembers her sitting by the fire, reading in public and the tear that had slid down her cheek, unseen by anyone but him.

More than anyone, Sha're had reveled in the progress her people had made.

He puts the note back on the table and sits down on a patterned rug. Outside the people are shouting and he can hear the sounds of the market. He doesn't want to scream at them now. He wants them to keep going. For her.

Daniel lays down and throws an arm over his eyes to block out the light. He lets the sounds of the city lull him off to sleep and when he sleeps he dreams of an Abydos where all the little children know the name Sha're.


End file.
